Nearly Perfect
by Ferialyn
Summary: Nearly perfect was never good enough. He was more than nearly perfect, and his picture should be as well. But she could never capture it just right… [Namixas, RoxasxNamine]


My first step into the Kingdom Hearts world. AU, I suppose. Merely because they're actual people.

Hope you enjoy.

A lone colored pencil, unmistakably black in color, flies across the paper, seemingly attached to a pale and delicate hand.

Curve. Slash. Scribble. Rub out. Trace. Erase. Retrace.

Pale blonde eyebrows furrow in concentration as meaningless lines and circles begin to form an image. Almost too fast to be sure it's actually happened, black is exchanged for tan, then a light brown. The gently swift movements of before are replaced with an almost violent passion as spikes are nearly torn into the paper. Small fingertips caress the indents in the paper, a soft yearning for the genuine article.

Finally, the artist stops. But the portrait isn't quite complete. Two blank spots in the subject's face seem to glare, demanding to be filled. Hesitation washes through the artist, conflict raging in her cerulean eyes. There is emotion in the way she touches the portrait, as though regretting what she must do next.

The portrait is flawless in every other aspect. Shapeless black robe, complete even to its silver tassels and suggestion of a hood. Gloved hands wrapped around his chosen weapons, ridiculous in theory, but more than dangerous in person, with more than appropriate names.

Oblivion. Oathkeeper.

Her eyes travel upward, gazing at the eyeless face with longing. Slightly pointed, the features hold no more than a drop of feminine-like qualities. Mouth drawn in a serious line. But oh, she reminisces, how easily that line can become her favorite sheepish grin. A simple nose, neither large nor small. Merely suited to him.

Skipping the slightly ominous blank spot where his eyes belong, her sight rests on his hair. Dirty blonde, she recalls, but she can never quite call it that. _Dirty_ simply doesn't belong on the list of words used to describe him in her mind. The sharp, but still soft, somehow, spikes in his hair add to his charm. Once again, her pale fingers trace the outlines of his hair, imagining the locks between her fingers once more.

_And still,_ her mind nags relentlessly,_ you've forgotten the most important piece._

She always stalls at this point. There is never a problem drawing the rest of him, unfading memories aiding her. But the final piece, hard enough to describe in real life, seems impossible to replicate on paper.

Piercing blue, icy calm or a raging sea of anger.

Melted sapphires, dripping with affection and tenderness.

Rippling cerulean, hazy with uncertainty or nervousness.

Even she, an artist at heart, cannot seem to capture that on paper. Every attempt lies in the corner, a sleek white wastebasket overflowing onto an equally white floor. The only part of her room she refuses to have anyone touch.

Wary hands grip a sapphire-colored pencil. Bright blue lead presses against the paper, anxiously awaiting the first stroke. All it would take to ruin his picture.

The pencil drops, and the artist leans back, taking a deep breath. Was she quite ready to throw away another nearly perfect portrait? Because nearly perfect was never good enough. He was more than nearly perfect, and his picture should be as well. But she could never capture it _just_ right…

A small click pulls her from her trancelike state, and the hand covering her own leaves little doubt who it is. Naminé looks up into the face she is incapable of completely capturing on paper, from his crooked grin to the eyes that she adores, warm with affection. His hands are ungloved, dark robe open to reveal a much more casual outfit. She nearly closes her eyes and sighs with happiness, but any movement, even a breath, would ruin the moment. All it takes to ruin the moment.

They merely smile at each other. At some point, they are both standing, his arms securely wrapped around her waist while hers encircle his neck. Lips meet softly, hesitantly, as though new to the experience. But the kiss continues sweetly, with a familiarity both feel, but never tire of.

Breaking apart, they rest their foreheads against each other. Eyes lock as he greets her softly.

"Hey." The word is simple, but the emotion speaks in volumes with those three letters. Naminé can't help but smile brightly at him.

"Hi." Roxas' answering smile is so blinding that Naminé forgets about the purely white room they're embracing in.

His smile.

His happiness, obvious in his actions, his eyes.

That is all that matters to her.

Over his shoulder, two blank spots stare at Naminé, but a quick glance into Roxas' eyes fills her with a determination. Pulling away from him, smiling slightly at his playful groan of protest, the artist picks up the colored pencil and sketches quickly, dropping the pencil when she finishes and allowing herself a triumphant grin.

Two brilliantly blue eyes stare up from the paper, perfect in every way. She can feel his real eyes staring over her shoulder, appraising the portrait. Then she feels a light kiss pressed to her shoulder and a small chuckle.

"It's almost perfect," he notes with amusement. Eyes widening in horror, Naminé scans the portrait, searching for the imperfection. Finding none, she turns to face Roxas in confusion. What fault had he found with her drawing?

"There's something wrong with it?" He can hear the hurt in her voice, her heart stung with the thought that Roxas didn't like it. The playful gleam melts away from his eyes as he takes her delicately pale hands in his large tan ones and stares into her eyes, his serious and tender.

"You're not in it."

_Fin_

Reviews are nice :)


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